


A Series of Unfortunate Events

by divingforstones, wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Originally commentfic, Post-S7, Slips of the Tongue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:26:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2038953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divingforstones/pseuds/divingforstones, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He's got absolutely no claim on Robbie's affections, and here he is behaving like a teenager sulky about the fact that his new boyfriend still has feelings for his last partner.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted on Divingforstones' LJ as commentfic between the three of us, and now compiled and edited.

James feels a smile start to tug at the corners of his mouth as he turns his head to look at a peacefully sleeping Robbie. He's going to have to wake him, though. He's rather pleasantly aching after a tough day up at Robbie's allotment and he wouldn't mind getting some proper sleep himself at this stage. And, technically, Robbie's couch, which they've both collapsed on with a certain relief after the dinner and clearing were done, _is_ James's bed at the moment. Just for a few days more, as James waits out the gap between the lease expiring on his old flat and the new one commencing on that smaller place that's better suited to the budget of a newly-minted research student.

He hadn't expected this offer from Robbie, to fill this ten-day gap by staying with him. On the evening he'd met Robbie for their regular weekly pint, he hadn't progressed too far in his planning beyond taking up, with relief, the offer of a friend in his band to stack James's accumulated boxes of worldly goods in his garage. He'd been thinking in terms of a cheap hostel, really, but Robbie's offer had been immediate and he'd started to frown when James tried at first to demur. James was hardly about to admit to the real grounds for his reluctance, that he suspected he'd find he was an intrusive presence with Laura presumably there a great deal — although maybe she and Robbie spent more time in her house?

What he certainly hadn't expected was that by the time he, his guitar and his rucksack arrived to stay in Robbie's, Laura was no longer a factor in the equation. Robbie didn't so much appear to be reticent on the subject as genuinely didn't seem to think there was much to say. _Turns out we work better as friends than anything else, Laura and me_ , he'd informed James with a shrug. That surely couldn't just be it? They'd been on again and off again for so many years, were they really just going to give up and revert to friendship as if full-on enthusiastic snogging in front of Innocent in the White Horse was some sort of casually distant memory? 

Apparently, they were. 

And James can't deny that this has been thoroughly enjoyable, his time here with Robbie so far. They've fallen into a very pleasant routine in the evenings ,when James gets home — back to Robbie's flat, not home, Christ, he'll be saying that aloud next if he's not more careful – and it had made him secretly look forward to the weekend. Today hasn't disappointed. Physical labour and aching limbs notwithstanding, James could happily spend every Saturday like this. And it had been good — very good — to see Robbie starting to enjoy the benefits of his allotment and to realise, listening to him relate stories to James about the goings-on down at that youth centre, just how engaged he was becoming with his volunteer work. But if James's limbs are aching, then Robbie's back — well, he really shouldn't be left to sleep in that position on the couch. 

"Sir?" James stops and grins to himself again. Old habits really do die hard. Must be because he's feeling slightly tentative at having to physically wake Robbie, because the sound of his voice alone is unlikely to penetrate that slumber. " _Robbie_." And he combines the name with a friendly squeeze to Robbie's warm shoulder.

"All right, love," Robbie mumbles in contented tones, not moving at all. James stiffens, dropping his hand and moves along the couch from where he's been sitting, so close to Robbie's side. And Robbie's eyes blink open as he frowns, seeming to detect James doing his utmost to remove his presence. He gazes at James, a half-awake question in his eyes.

"You forgot I was here," James tells him, flatly. "You thought I was Laura."

Shit. Could he have sounded more childishly jealous if he'd tried? 

He's got absolutely no claim on Robbie's affections, and here he is behaving like a teenager sulky about the fact that his new boyfriend still has feelings for his last partner. 

"Sorry," he says quickly. "Sorry. I... I just meant... I think you were half-asleep when you spoke to me."

"Oh." Robbie scrubs his eyes. "Ah... If I said anything inappropriate, ignore it, yeah?" He seems to be avoiding looking at James.

"Of course." _Love_. If only... James forces a smile to his face, hoping it looks natural. "I was just saying, you should go to bed. You'll wake up in agony if you doze here much longer."

"Yeah, you're right. Thanks, man." Again, Robbie's not looking at him. Shit, he really did put his foot in it, didn't he? Fuck. His secret's out, and now Robbie's uncomfortable around him. There's only one thing for it; he'll have to move out tomorrow and just find somewhere to stay for the few remaining days before his new flat's available.

Robbie eases himself to his feet and leaves the room, throwing a "Goodnight, James," over his shoulder without looking back. And, once he's gone, James throws himself back onto the sofa and buries his head in his hands.

* * *

James is awake and staring at the ceiling the next morning when Robbie comes out.

"You sleep at all?" Robbie asks.

James shakes his head. He doesn't know what to say. He'll pack his things and leave if he has to… and he's afraid he will have to, because he over-reacted so badly last night.

Robbie gives him a questioning look. "Because of… last night?"

James keeps his eyes fixed on the ceiling and not on Robbie. "I handled it badly."

Robbie does something entirely unexpected. He _laughs_.

That does draw James's attention, and he looks at Robbie, bewildered. "I don't understand."

"Nothing. I thought the same thing. Making too much of… something small." He shakes his head. "We were both tired. Forget it, yeah?"

James will absolutely take this opportunity to forget it. "Of course."

At first James feels pure relief, knowing that he hasn’t been exposed after all, that somehow he and Robbie are just back on an even keel. And it’s a further relief when Robbie disappears to shower, allowing James further respite to get his head around this. He starts to pack all traces of his presence away into his rucksack in the prompt way that both amuses and slightly exasperates Robbie. _I don’t run such a tight ship as all that, lad_. 

James doesn’t have to leave, though, it’s not going to be murderously awkward between them, they’ve all day Sunday ahead of them now — and there it is. James pauses and sinks back down on the couch, his self-set tidying task unfinished. 

It’s a peculiar sort of fluctuating pain, this. 

The greater intimacy of the last few days — no, it’s not intimacy, he reminds himself, it’s proximity, big difference — but it feels so easy to relax into these routines with Robbie. Robbie had just been so warm and relaxed, so casual about the whole thing. It’s too easy to get used to. Too easy to forget that Robbie is probably just enjoying having company in general when he’s so recently left a relationship. 

Too easy to forget that however their friendship may shift, as they get used to establishing it as something wholly separate from work, this is not the way it will be, spending this much time together. Weekly pints is more likely to be the level they’ll settle at. So it would, in many ways, have been better not to come to stay with Robbie after all.

But James’s efforts to give himself a talking-to are rudely interrupted by the buzz of an incoming text. Why is his soon-to-be landlord texting him directly? On a Sunday morning?

He doesn't have to wait long to find out, and when he does he wants to curl up and pretend that the last twenty-four hours never happened.

_Major leak from flat above. Flat a mess. Weeks to fix — you probably better find somewhere else._

He flops back against the sofa-back with an agonised groan. It'd taken weeks to find this flat, a clean, decent place that he could actually afford in a part of Oxford that wasn't too expensive or too run-down. The thought of starting that search all over again is thoroughly depressing — and as for the possibility of finding something as good as the flat he'd thought was waiting for him, he's got absolutely zero optimism about that. And even if he does find somewhere relatively quickly, he's unlikely to be moving in when he thought he would — which means either he'll have to rely on Robbie's hospitality and good nature a little longer (which feels far too much like taking grossly unfair advantage), or moving to a hostel, after all. 

Though, at the same time, he can't quite silence the little voice that's saying _You don't have to leave Robbie's place yet! You get to spend more time with him!_ That's not fair, though. He can't assume that Robbie'd be willing to let him stay, or that it would be in any way reasonable to accept, given that Robbie's the kindest bloke he knows and will more than likely say he can stay. 

"What's up, man? You look like you've lost a shilling and found a sixpence."

James looks up, actually managing a smirk. "Oh, yes, and you actually paid for things with shillings and sixpences, didn't you?"

"Farthings, more like." Robbie deliberately exaggerates his Geordie accent. "Barely saw a shilling when I were a nipper." He drops down on the couch next to James. "What's happened?"

There's no point hiding it. One way or another, Robbie's going to find out, isn't he? With a sigh, he hands over his phone.

Robbie looks at the phone, then hands it back to James. "I hope you haven't paid anything for the flat yet."

"No, not yet," James says.

"Good," Robbie says. "Well, s’pose you'll be staying here a bit longer."

"I really can't intrude like this," James protests, though part of him does wonder why he's arguing against what he actually wants.

"I told you before, it's not an intrusion," Robbie says. "You've been cooking. That alone makes it worth it for me. I'd got a bit tired of frozen dinners and peanut butter sandwiches."

"Yes, but I'm sure you're anxious to get back to your normal routines," James says. "Things you can't do when I'm here."

Robbie gives him a highly dubious look. "What can't I do?"

Unfortunately, James says the first thing that comes to mind. "Walk round in your pants."

Robbie clears his throat. "Well, it's a good job I never did that, then."

James, mutely embarrassed, simply nods.

Robbie pats James's shoulder. "You're staying here and that's flat. I won't take no for an answer."

* * *

“Oh, don’t fall asleep again—” The words are out of James’s mouth before he can think the better of them. So it’s probably fortunate that Robbie has missed them. Being already asleep. 

Well, James will just employ the remote control to good effect and gradually raise the volume to wake him this time. It’s probably no surprise really, after the long, pleasurable riverside ramble they’d landed up taking this afternoon, walking off lunch at The Trout. And didn’t Robbie say he hadn’t slept too well himself last night? After his embarrassment at mistaking James for Laura. 

Robbie had really seemed quite content when they got back today, supposedly relaxing watching some Sunday evening documentary while James, insisting that he had dinner covered, threw together a quick stir-fry. But at times, if he turned suddenly in the small kitchen area, James had seen that Robbie was watching what he was doing instead. A stir-fry could hardly be a mystery to him, could it? Although he had seemed, gratifyingly, genuinely pleased about someone cooking for him, as he’d said this morning. 

James’s dismay at seeing him asleep now is nothing to do with last night’s humiliation and close call. It’s genuine concern about the damage that sleeping in that position must do to Robbie’s back. Robbie has slouched further down, tipping over even closer than usual to James, his head sliding very close to James’s shoulder now, as James sits quite upright on the couch. 

But James isn’t going to take a moment to indulge in that bittersweet pleasure and not only because the threat of exposure is so recent. If James is secretly having trouble today, shaking off the stiffness from yesterday’s work on the allotment, then Robbie must be worse, mustn’t he, despite his cheerful protestations to the contrary when James had casually enquired. 

The remote control does the trick, and James is eventually able to lie down for the night feeling far calmer and settled himself after that companionable day. So the rather confused, restless night he ends up enduring comes as an unpleasant surprise. But he’s vaguely aware, each time he stirs, that the couch seems to have somehow become pretty uncomfortable. And in the morning he wakes to early morning summer sunlight, the increasingly-familiar sound of that particularly persistent bird in that tree outside Robbie’s front window and a dawning sensation that something is quite wrong. 

Oh, so this is what it feels like if your back goes? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

Maybe if he just lies still for a bit longer, it'll settle and he'll be able to move. But he can't find a comfortable position. Then when he tries to stand, thinking that maybe if he walks around, stretching his back out, it could help, agonising pain shoots through his lower spinal region. No, he's not going to be moving just yet.

"Oi, having a lazy start to the day, are we?"

Shit. Robbie's up already. James can't even see him; he can't turn his head, because it twists his spine. "Sorry," he says, and he can hear the misery in his voice. "I don't think I'll be able to make breakfast this morning."

"What's up, man?" He hears the instant concern in Robbie's voice, and then the man himself is crouching next to him. "You sick? Should I take you to a doctor — or phone Laura?"

"Not sick." He has to pause to breathe shallowly; deep breaths send pain radiating through him. "Back."

"Oh." Robbie winces. "I know what _that's_ like. Need a hand to sit up?"

He accepts Robbie's hand, and then his supporting arm, and it feels good, if still painful, to be on his feet. Other needs become urgent, and he pushes past his embarrassment to allow Robbie to help him to the bathroom — though he insists, once they're at the door, that he can manage. When he comes out, Robbie's waiting, and in the kitchen the table is set. At his place, there are two capsules. "Horse-strength anti-inflammatories," Robbie says with a rueful expression. "I didn't tell you — strained me back again while you were in Kosovo, an' I got these. They'll tide you over until we can get you to Casualty."

"I don't need—" he starts to protest, but Robbie cuts across him. 

"You need to go to A&E, and don't argue. In case you've forgotten, you wouldn't let me argue the first time I did me back in. Now it's your turn." Robbie moves to the counter to make coffee. "An' there's no way you can sleep on that couch tonight."

"I know." He's already concluded that. "I'd better phone the hostel, see if they have a bed."

"You'll do no such thing!" Robbie sounds appalled as well as concerned. 

"You can't sleep on the couch!" James protests. "Then we'll have both of us incapacitated."

"No need." Robbie carries two steaming mugs to the table. "Should've said before. No need for you to sleep bent in half on the couch when there's half a double bed going spare down the hall."

Oh, no. That's the last thing he needs — and the last way he can keep his true feelings from Robbie. What if they wake up snuggled together? Or worse, what if they wake up and James has his arms round Robbie and Robbie is horrified?

"I… I can't," James says, and he sounds as miserable as he feels.

"Don't be daft. You know I've got an orthopaedic mattress and that. Best thing in the world for both our backs," Robbie says. "Better than anything you'll get at a hostel."

That's true. And in spite of all the reasons he knows he shouldn't, James wants to.

"Well," he says reluctantly, "only if you don't mind."

"Already said I didn't," Robbie says. "Come on. Finish that and we'll get you to Casualty."

* * *

Robbie looks up as James hobbles out of the exam room. "Well?"

James gives him a rueful grin. "Same as you. Muscle spasm."

Robbie grimaces. "Sorry, lad. I know what that feels like. Same advice?"

James nods. "Painkillers and an orthopaedic mattress." 

"We'll have you on the bed soon as we get home," Robbie says gruffly. "No sense mucking about."

_Have_ him on the bed? James hears a strange sound, a disbelieving laugh. Unfortunately, it seems to have emerged from his own mouth. 

But seriously. The fates and Robbie Lewis seem to be conspiring now to try and push him over the edge entirely. It’s like a bizarre alternate dimension. He’s being invited to spend the night in Robbie’s bed, with Robbie, and his ex-governor is making suggestive remarks to him — completely oblivious suggestive remarks, but still — and it’s all pure practicality, pure innocence, pure kindness on Robbie’s part. So it’s just unfortunate that it’s also echoing elements of the rather elaborate fantasies that still play out in an unruly part of James’s mind.

Robbie is looking at him, frowning now, probably confused by that strange reaction.

“The painkillers,” James explains hurriedly. “They seem to be making me quite lightheaded.”

“Well, they’re not meant to do that,” Robbie says, the concerned frown not easing at all. Oh, wonderful. Of course the only painkillers James has taken so far today are the ones that Robbie gave him from his own prescription. “I specifically got ones that don’t make you drowsy or risk affecting your cognitive function, as my doctor told me,” Robbie is elaborating. James wishes he’d just stop. “Didn’t they give you a prescription for the same ones, then?”

The doctor had. Along with a short lecture on self-medicating from other people’s prescriptions, but James had barely paid attention to that. He’d simply assumed the slightly-interested, slightly-apologetic expression that used to get him by, most of the time, when Innocent was imparting similar rebukes. He'd had far more important things to concern himself with. 

He nods at Robbie now. 

“Well, let’s get you home then, eh?” Robbie’s tone is kind and James finds that almost hard to take, between the pain and all this stressful confusion.

* * *

James does feel heartily thankful for that orthopaedic mattress once he’s settled on Robbie’s bed. 

“You could do with a cup of tea, couldn’t you?” Robbie asks, and he’s on his way out of the room to make it, leaving James already relaxing slightly, anticipating a few minutes alone, when he doesn’t have to keep his guard up. But then Robbie turns at the door, looking back at him.

“What would you have done if this happened when you were alone in your flat?” he asks, abruptly. “I know it wouldn’t have, that this was probably brought on by the ill-effects of too many nights on the couch and digging my allotment won’t have helped—”

“It’s not that—“ James starts.

“But what would you have done?” Robbie is continuing, in a tone that suddenly reminds James of the one his boss used to use to press unwilling interviewees. “Would you have phoned me?”

"I..." He finds he can't look at Robbie suddenly. "I don't know, but I can imagine that I'd feel I wouldn't want to be a nuisance."

Robbie doesn't answer immediately, and the quality of his silence makes James look in his direction after all. And Robbie's expression is... disappointed. More than that — almost hurt. 

"I see," Robbie says quietly, and turns and leaves the room before James can say anything. Crap. What has he done now? Why can't he do anything right where Robbie Lewis is concerned?

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

He wants to run after Robbie, to ask what he said that's so wrong, to tell Robbie that he wouldn't hurt him for the world. But as soon as he tries to move, pain paralyses him; any attempt to shift his lower back, even to lie back in the same position as before, causes agony.

Fuck. _Fuck_! 

He finally manages to ease himself downwards again and into a bearable position, and all he can do now is wait for Robbie to come back.

It feels like an age, but is probably only around ten minutes, before Robbie does return — carrying one mug of tea. He sets it down on the bedside cabinet. "Will you be able to reach that?" he asks, and god, his tone's so formal, so distant. 

"Yes," James says, even though he's pretty sure he hasn't a chance in hell of getting into the right position to reach and drink the tea. Not without a lot of pain — or a lot of help. But he can't impose on Robbie any more. 

"All right." Robbie heads for the door, and James watches him, heart thumping and a lump of ice spreading in his stomach. Why can't he do anything to fix this? Why is he so bloody _useless_ when it comes to friendship? And, Christ, tonight's going to be impossible, isn't it, if Robbie's still planning on having them share this bed. 

He has to do something. What he's going to say, he has no idea — but he has to try. "Robbie—"

At the same moment, Robbie pauses and looks back. "James, why can't you ever bloody well let me in? Why do you have to be so fucking independent all the time, even when it hurts you?"

_Because you can't find out the truth. Because you're a detective, and if you get close enough you will. Because if you do find out you'll stop wanting me to let you in._

Another spasm of back pain knocks the words from his mind — not that he should say that particular set of words anyway — and he struggles to come up with an answer he can actually tell Robbie.

"Try to…" He grits his teeth. "I try to… If all I ever do is… need things from you… you'll get tired of me."

He can't read that expression on Robbie's face. Ordinarily he could, but his concentration is all smashed to bits at the moment because of his bloody back.

"Why not leave that for me to decide?" Robbie asks quietly.

"I didn't want to take the chance…" James shakes his head, and it is the wrong move, because it sets his back into one massive spasm of pain, drawing an inarticulate sound of agony from him.

"Christ…" Robbie is at his side in an instant. "What happened?"

James shakes his head, and shit, he's _got_ to stop doing that, because when he does, it shifts his back in such a way that it nearly brings tears to his eyes. "Just… shifted wrong… sorry…"

Robbie rests a gentle hand on James's shoulder. "You're hurt, James. You don't have to apologise for that. You don't have to apologise for everything."

James is beyond formulating a reply to that. He's beyond worrying about whether he's over-apologetic. Robbie's hand seems the best thing to focus on, just that warm, rough hand.

"Don't worry about it for now, lad. Stupid time for me to bring it up. Just try and relax." Robbie looks down at him ruefully. "Easier said than done, I know."

He might manage it just a bit, though. As long as he just keeps his focus on that hand, James thinks he can just begin to slightly release the tortured hold of those muscles. But he feels Robbie's hand withdrawing now. It seems too much, just at this moment, having to face the gentle but definite withdrawal of that comfort. He'd like to turn away and hide his expression from Robbie's gaze, but that's an impossibility right now. All he can do is try and compose himself somehow.

So it takes him a moment to realise what Robbie is actually saying, to focus on his words. "You stop me if this hurts, all right? If it jolts you?" And Robbie has removed his shoes and is slowly, and so carefully, sitting on the bed and shifting back to rest against the headboard now, to join him, looking down at James.

There's a momentary stab of pain as the mattress dips, then settles, though it moves around a lot less than James's own bed, still in storage in his friend's garage, would have. But the pain's irrelevant next to the fact that he has Robbie sitting next to him. He hasn't wrecked everything, after all.

"Okay?" Robbie asks. 

"Yes." He's trying not to hold himself as stiffly, because he knows that will only make the aching, inflamed muscles hurt more. It's hard not to, though, because of the instinctive fear that relaxing will lead to more pain. 

"Pills not working?" Robbie's face is creased in sympathy. "Lean against me, if it helps."

It's only a slight sideways move, and immediately the support of Robbie's strong shoulder and side does help. "Thanks. The pills... probably wearing off now. Though I can't take any more for—" He checks his watch. "Almost an hour." 

"We'll just sit quietly until then." Robbie's arm comes around his shoulders and holds him steady. "Stay still, if you can." He feels Robbie shifting very slightly, and looks carefully to the side to see him reaching for the mug of tea. "Here." He passes it to James. "Might help."

"You didn't bring one for yourself." James takes a sip. It's comforting.

"Yeah, well." Robbie grins at him, takes the mug from him and drinks from it himself. "You don't mind sharing, do you? I'll make more when you're able to have more pills."

"You're very generous," James says, impulsive suddenly. "Sharing your bed, your tea... what next?"

"Me common sense and wisdom," Robbie retorts immediately. "Which, if I were in your place, would be telling me that when you've got a friend who cares about you an' wants to help, you should let him."

"I'm sorry if I seem to be pushing you away," James says quietly. "I don't mean to. But my experience has been everything's only one step away from dissolution, anyway."

"How do you mean?" He hears the perplexed tone of Robbie's voice.

James closes his eyes, feeling strangely secure with Robbie's arm round his shoulders. "People who say forever don't mean it. They only mean until you do something wrong. Something they don't like. Then it dissolves like it was never there."

"You think I'm like that?" Robbie sounds horrified.

James opens his eyes. "No! It's not about you at all! It's…it's about me stepping wrong. I try so hard, but I always find something that alienates people. I don't want to do that with you. It…" _It matters that you like me_. "I think what you see as me pulling away… I see as trying not to become the kind of friend you don't want."

Robbie is silent a long time. Then, finally, he speaks. "James… I don't want you to spare me. Whatever it is you think you're doing by not coming to me when you're in trouble, or upset, or in pain… don't you understand? At those times, a real friend wants to help you. I hate the idea of you stranded in your flat, in pain like this and feeling you couldn't call me. Think how you'd feel if it were me. Wouldn't you want to help me?"

James narrowly avoids nodding. "Yes." 

James stores that one up for future thought — that Robbie, as James is rapidly coming to realise, feels actual frustration at James not letting him in at times of vulnerability. 

Well, Robbie is so quick to empathise, so kind and practical, he'd just have this pull to do what he could, where he could, when anyone was in distress. Including James. Or possibly, from what Robbie is taking pains to make clear here, even especially James. It's a rather startling thought, but it seems only fair to acknowledge the truth of it, when he has this strong arm around him. 

But Robbie is continuing, and he sounds rather troubled. “This idea you have in your head, then. About having to be a certain kind of friend. Non-dependent, no trouble, that it?" He seems to take James's silence as consent.

"Well, that doesn't seem the best idea to me, lad," he says slowly, startling James. "Can't have it all one-way traffic. I mean — I'd find it a whole heap easier if I knew you could just bring yourself to tell me what you could do with, sometimes. Would mean I wouldn't have to worry about taking advantage, like, wouldn't it? With you helping with the allotment or making those home-cooked meals that come as a pleasant shock to me system. Be a lot more comfortable for me if I knew you wouldn't be keeping quiet about anything you needed yourself." 

" _You_ taking advantage?" James says slowly. The idea is completely new to him. It's never occurred to him that Robbie could possibly be taking advantage of him, and yet, the way Robbie's just explained it... he can see his point.

"Let me guess," Robbie says dryly. "You've got it into that thick head of yours that I'm doin' you a favour by letting you help on me allotment? That I let you cook for me out of the goodness of my heart?" His tone's that familiar amused mockery James knows so well, and it's both reassuring and convincing. Yes, in a way he has thought that. 

"An' you thought I told you — and _only_ you — why Laura an' me split up because...?" He gives James a questioning look. 

"I suppose... because you trust me."

"We're getting there." Robbie smiles, looking pleased. "Yes, I trust you. I needed to talk to someone, an' you're the only one I felt comfortable telling. Just like I'd hope you'd feel comfortable telling me things — if you've got stuff on your mind, if you're in trouble and you need help. Anything. Mutual help and assistance — because that's part of what friendship is. All right?"

"I suppose... it's only..." That it's never worked that way before. That, somehow, he must always have expected too much, because it's never lasted.

"James." Robbie's free hand covers his, and squeezes. "Listen to me. I don't care what experience you've had with friends in the past. This is me. I don't treat me friends like that. Far as I'm concerned, I'd like nothing better than for you to ask me for help any time you need it, an' I'll do the same. That'll make me feel like I'm being a proper friend to you, an' not like you're just humouring me by doing me favours."

The sincerity in Robbie's voice is beyond doubt. It's still hard to believe that things won't change in the future — but life's like that, isn't it? His friend's a man whose life was completely shattered in a single second, when his wife was killed. But it hasn't stopped him being optimistic about the future, or making new connections with people — or even trying love again.

He's learned so much from Robbie Lewis over the years. This is another lesson he needs to learn, isn't it?

"Point taken," he says, and squeezes Robbie's hand back to show that, despite the ironic humour in his voice, he means what he's saying and he values Robbie's friendship.

"Good." Robbie hugs him gently, then starts to disentangle his arm. Oh. So, now that the conversation's over, the closeness is too? "Right — about time I got your next dose of painkillers. Another tea, as well?" 

"Yes, thanks. And..." He smiles. "Bearing in mind your advice, I will ask you for help. I should be looking for another flat, now the one I had's fallen through. If you could bring me my tablet, I can start looking — and once I can walk without feeling like I’m half-paralysed, would you come to see flats with me?" 

"Well, I could, I suppose," Robbie says slowly, and James's heart starts to sink. He's asked too much. Taken advantage, again. "But I've been thinking, ever since you told me you were moving in the first place."

"Yeah?"

"Wished you'd told me first, before you signed the agreement for that other place, didn't I? Because, soon as I knew you wanted to move, I thought, why couldn't we find a place to share?"

James wants that. Oh, he wants it… he wants it more than anything. But he has to be sure Robbie really does too.

"Are you sure you want a flatmate?" James asks quietly. "If… I would hate to think you felt… constrained… for instance, if you were dating someone and…"

Robbie is quiet for a moment. Then he says, "If I brought someone home… I expect you'd give me the same courtesy as if you brought someone home."

"I won't be bringing anyone home." His tone is flat and final.

"Aye, well, I don't expect I will be either," Robbie says. "So… what do you think? It's been… it's been good, you and me, hasn't it? Something… something we could carry on with?" Does he sound… nervous? That must be James's imagination.

"I'd like to," James says slowly. "If… if you're sure you'd want to give this place up."

"I've got no attachment to this place," Robbie says. "Much rather share a flat with someone I like. It's no good coming home alone every night to empty rooms. You being here showed me that."

James can empathise.

“So you want your tablet thing to start having a look at what’s around? That distract you a bit from your back, would it?”

“My tablet thing would, yes,” says James, keeping a straight face. “Just an initial look and then we can draw up criteria—" 

The whole idea is beginning to take on a concrete reality as he thinks of estate agents and listings and it’s making him feel rather ridiculously happy. And the distraction will help, must be helping already, because at least he’s managed to subdue some of his muscles into something approaching a less rigid state. As long as he doesn’t actually think about them too much…

“Painkillers,” says Robbie firmly. "And tea. You can even have a whole cup to yourself, this time,” he offers generously. He seems rather cheerful himself, James realises, letting his eyes follow Robbie towards the bedroom door. 

“I’ll be looking forward to this in-flat entertainment you’ve promised, mind,” Robbie informs him, pausing in the doorway and raising his eyebrows at James. “All this that you get up to in your spare time and own space. This walking around in your pants.”

"I'd give you a sample now, if I could only manage to take my trousers off." James gives Robbie a wicked grin. "Though if you're looking forward to it that much, you could always help me."

Robbie shakes his head with that long-suffering expression James knows so well. "I think I can savour the anticipation for a little longer." With that, he leaves the room.

He's missed this over the past while, the casual teasing and mocking that's been such a part of their relationship for so long. And, now that he thinks about it, it's really been his fault; he's been so careful not to be a nuisance, not to make Robbie regret allowing him to stay, that he's put up walls and... well, he's actually been pushing Robbie away, hasn't he? 

Well, he knows better now.

When Robbie comes back, he sits next to James on the bed again and offers his shoulder for support, and they spend an hour or so looking through flats to let. They end up with a shortlist of around six to take a look at once James is in less pain: all with two bedrooms, of course, and a decent layout, including a kitchen that meets James's standards. 

This is going to be the best thing that's happened to him since Robbie agreed to take him on as a bagman. Just as long as he can keep his unwanted feelings for Robbie hidden.

* * *

He's up and about a little bit later, as the painkillers start to do their work and he has more freedom of movement. Even still, Robbie insists that he take it easy; he's not allowed to cook this evening, and Robbie makes sure that he has cushions to support his back when they sit on the sofa to watch TV. He's never really had anyone take care of him before — well, since he was a very small child, at any rate — and it's nice. Better than nice.

Robbie fusses over him a bit at bedtime as well, making sure that he takes his pills and that there's a glass of water and more pills next to him in case he wakes up during the night in pain. "And if you do, make sure you wake me, too," Robbie insists, and makes him promise.

The bed's so comfortable, so much better than the couch. When they get their flat, he's going to get rid of his own bed and get one like this. He's no sooner settled and said goodnight to Robbie than he's out cold. 

He wakes in the morning to find his head resting on a warm shoulder, and Robbie's head leaning against his. Of course it's a complete accident, and he needs to move before Robbie realises — but it feels lovely, and surely he can stay here for another few seconds? Robbie's not awake; he'll never know...

"Morning, pet," a sleepy voice murmurs close to his ear.

James feels a pang of pain, and not the physical kind. He closes his eyes and pretends Robbie means him. If this is going to happen… and happen regularly, as this isn't the first time… James has to learn how not to let it affect him so strongly.

"Morning," he whispers.

He feels Robbie nuzzle him with a stubbly cheek, and James can feel his jaw tense… his usual nervous reaction. If only this affection were meant for him. He wishes it were… wishes it so much. James closes his eyes.

"How's your back?" Robbie murmurs.

What? James's eyes snap open again. What can Robbie mean? Does… has he conflated Laura and James again, thinking that Laura's had back problems? Or… could he have meant James when he said _pet_ …?

Rather than replying, James lets out a vague sigh as he tries to work out what the hell to do now.

Robbie sighs too. "Sleep a bit longer, yeah?" he murmurs. "Just a bit…"

“Course,” James murmurs, in low tones, intent only on not disturbing Robbie further, not rousing him properly. 

And Robbie’s breathing does seem to be deepening, lengthening out again. It buys James a bit more time, even as he feels his shoulders start to stiffen, too, as he tries to work out what’s going on here, what he should do. It’s impossible.

He lifts his head to peer at Robbie’s face but no answers are forthcoming there. God, he really does look so content when he’s asleep, doesn’t he? And somehow that look of content is too much for James, he can’t quite resist the temptation. 

He drops his own head back down softly on Robbie’s warm shoulder for just a moment longer.

“That’s it, lad…” comes the mumble, trailing off, as Robbie settles his own head against James’s, now utterly still head, once more.

When he wakes again, bright sunlight's streaming through the gaps in the curtains, and his head's still on Robbie's shoulder. And Robbie, as he sees when he glances sideways, is watching him with what looks like fond amusement. 

"Crap!" Without thinking, he jerks himself upwards and then out of bed. "Sorry... I didn't intend..."

"Looks like your back's better today, lad," Robbie comments, sliding up to lean against the headboard. 

He pauses, distracted, and flexes his lower spine, shoulders and hips. There's some residual twinges, but nothing he can't live with. "Much better, yes. I think your bed must agree with it."

"Aye, well, in that case you'll sleep here at least until we move."

James mumbles something and escapes from the bedroom, cheeks flaming. What was he thinking? How could he abuse Robbie's hospitality like that? And — what's worse — now that Robbie's being generous enough to offer to let him share his bed until they move, how is he going to control his impulses until then?

But, he reminds himself as he puts the kettle on, Robbie encouraged him, didn't he? Called him 'pet' - well, assuming that was intended for him, and not Robbie dreaming about Laura (or even Val) again. And the way he seemed to approve when James rested his head on his shoulder again. 

No. Robbie was more than half-asleep. He didn't know what he was saying. He was just reacting to the presence of a warm body in his bed again, something he'd become used to once more and then lost again. It's not as if he actually _meant_...

 _Put it out of your head, man_ , he tells himself firmly, and makes the coffee.

He feels a warm hand on his shoulder and he wants to sink down, to lean back and trust that Robbie will be there. He wants to stop carrying the weight of worry that always seems too heavy for his shoulders alone. He wants Robbie to move his hands and massage his neck and soothe his muscles and help him relax.

None of which, of course, Robbie does. Because Robbie is unaware that James wants any of these things, and honestly, it's probably safer that way.

"Do you want some coffee?" James asks.

"You know I do," Robbie answers, squeezing his shoulder slightly. "You all right today? Only you got up so suddenly."

James stares at the coffeepot. "I wanted to make myself useful."

"Give yourself time, James. You're getting over a back injury. No sense straining things and having to lie flat for another day or two."

That's a good idea. Maybe he should do that. It would give him an excuse.

No, that's beyond the pale even for him. No lying and no dissembling. Not when Robbie's been so kind.

“I didn’t intend to do that — fall asleep on your shoulder.” 

But even that’s a lie. Because he did. He certainly didn’t intend to fall asleep, and get discovered like that by a fully wakeful Robbie, but he had let himself take that blessed comfort, he had dropped his head to Robbie’s shoulder, wanting to be able to do that as if he had a right to, as if he belonged there. 

And it’s starting to dawn on James that this won’t work — this flat-sharing plan he had indulged himself in yesterday, it just won’t work. He’ll be constantly pretending and deceiving and if there’s one thing Robbie Lewis doesn’t take well to, it’s the people he trusts deceiving him.

Robbie’s looking strangely flushed now, standing here in the kitchen, a hand coming up to the back of his neck, that tell-tale sign of embarrassment. “Ever occur to you I didn’t mind that?” he asks abruptly. 

Just as James blurts out, “I don’t think this flat-sharing is such a good idea.”

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

"You what?" Robbie asks, frowning and suddenly looking... wounded. In that same moment, it dawns on James what Robbie said.

"You... don't mind?"

"Said I don't, didn't I?" Robbie's turning away, and James knows, just knows he's both embarrassed and offended his friend. Fuck. Fuck, _fuck!_ He's been trying so hard _not_ to be a nuisance, not to ask too much of Robbie, not to offend in any way — and, between yesterday and today, he's gone and done it anyway.

He has to put this right. Right now.

He puts down the coffee and goes to Robbie, laying a hand on the man's shoulder. "I'm really sorry," he says, tone soft. "I... I thought I'd overstepped, and rather than risk it happening again I said... But if you're sure you don't mind?"

Robbie turns and gives him a wry smile. "I don't mind, lad. In fact..." He shakes his head. "I started hoping, over the past week or so, that... you wouldn't mind either. I—" He rubs his ear. "I know we've never been like that, but... I miss bein' close to someone. Y'know, touching, hugging an' that. I know we're mates, like, but, well..."

James can feel his jaw actually slackening. It's never occurred to him that Robbie might want this. Oh, that Robbie misses being part of a couple is no surprise; he's been worried about the man since he split up with Laura. But that Robbie would like that kind of physical affection from _him_...

He can offer it, of course he can. More than that; he'd love to offer it. Craves it, in fact.

But can he go thus far and no further? It wouldn't be settling — how could it be, when he never even imagined that he could have this much? But can he ensure that he doesn't overstep the line of what Robbie wants and is prepared to allow?

"If we're going to do this," James says softly, "you have to promise me something."

Robbie's expression softens, and he says, matching the gentleness of James's tone, "Just tell me what, James. Whatever you need to… feel safe, or…"

What? Robbie thinks…thinks that this is…? Paradoxically, James feels vulnerable at Robbie's offer, as though Robbie has seen something about James James doesn't even let himself see most of the time.

"Thank you," James whispers, having forgotten for a moment what he was going to say. "That's…" Overwhelmed, he settles for touching Robbie's arm gently, and Robbie covers James's hand with his own. "Thank you."

After a moment, James remembers, and pulls himself together. "You need to promise me you'll be absolutely clear with me about what you want and don't want. I'm not good at guesswork and don't want to step wrong." He can't afford to step wrong… can't afford to lose what was on offer here.

Robbie nods. "If you promise me you'll do the same. No hiding in that big brain of yours. You've got to let me know what's all right and what isn't."

Reluctantly, James nods. That will be harder… but somehow he'll manage it, he supposes.

* * *

It feels like he hasn’t been inside this library for weeks. And it was only Friday when he last spent most of the day cooped up in here, rather absorbed in the text that’s now completely failing to hold his attention. 

He won’t be here all day today, sitting in one of these chairs. It’ll only be a couple of hours unless he wants to risk jeopardising the recovery his back muscles seem to be achieving. Robbie dropped him off on the way to his morning stint of volunteering at the youth centre, and has suggested he pick him up him on his way home for lunch.

And loath as he is to lose another day on his schedule, James certainly sees the sense in that suggestion.

But he’s thoroughly distracted. If, last time he sat here, someone had told him he would’ve spent the night with Robbie Lewis in his bed, and that Robbie would then have given him permission, almost have asked him, to be more physically affectionate with him…

James shakes his head at himself, making a soft noise of frustration that still earns him a glare from his nearest neighbour. He had better apply himself to his work.

Because he has far more hope of puzzling out the ramifications of this supposedly impenetrable text than he has of working out what exactly is going on his life at the moment. Working out which capricious god is going to meddle next in his affairs and continue to somehow entwine his life with Robbie’s like this — in a curious almost-but-not-quite facsimile of what James really wants. 

And he feels he has no hope at all at working out what the hell is going to happen next.

He gives up the reading as a bad job and heads outside for a cigarette, choosing to walk around the cloister rather than sit. Better for his back, apart from anything else.

Robbie, of course, would tell him not to be so daft — but then Robbie doesn't dwell on things, doesn't brood, doesn't take days or even weeks to weigh up the pros and cons of whatever decision or problem he's puzzling over. If it's a decision, he makes it and then doesn't second-guess himself — unlike James, who will second-, third- and fourth-guess himself. If it's a problem, something intractable, something he can do nothing about, he'll just shrug and recognise there's nothing he can do — _what we can't change, we live with, lad, and that's all there is to it_. And if it's something terrible that's happened, he picks himself up and gets on with things, even in the worst of situations.

He's absolutely certain that Robbie doesn't know what to make of James sometimes. They're so different, in personality and character. Yet they've become such close friends, and James knows that the friendship is by no means all on his side. Nor is Robbie seeing him as a solution in the absence of any alternatives — Laura or no Laura, James has always been important to him. In the beginning., after they both left the force, it was Robbie who, far more frequently than James, made contact and suggested getting together. 

And now this: taking friendship a step further, but not to the level James craves. What he doesn't know is what Robbie's limits are — and, unlike Robbie, who seems to have no difficulty coming right out and saying things, James doesn't feel at all capable of asking.

He turns as he hears the crunching of gravel behind him, someone walking at a quick pace. "So this is where you're hiding," Robbie himself comments with a grin. "So much for slaving over a hot book."

James stubs out his cigarette. "My back couldn't take sitting for too long," he offers; it has the virtue of being mostly true.

"Aw, poor lad." Robbie's arm comes around his back; it's more than a pat, yet not quite a hug. "Come on, then — I'll take you to lunch, and then what about takin' a look at some flats?"

James attempts to lean into the semi-embrace… and Robbie doesn't pull away. That's good news… at least, James has to assume it is.

"Lunch and flats sound good," James says quietly. "I'm not getting any work done here."

"Because of your back?" Robbie asks.

James shrugs; the movement could be read either as an affirmative or a negative. He'll let Robbie interpret it as he likes. "I couldn't concentrate."

Robbie nods. "Some days I'm like that. Think a bit of a break is needed?"

"I think I'll be taking one whether it's needed or not," James says wryly.

Robbie grins in response. "Ah, well. You don't need to shift a ton every day, lad. Sometimes I think you push yourself too hard."

"Not hard enough, maybe," James says.

Robbie tuts. "That's what I mean. You're always so hard for yourself. A bloke like you should do more in the way of forgiveness."

"Ah, but where's the line between self-forgiveness and vanity?" James asks.

Robbie turns to face him in the shadowed cloisters. “What the bloody hell are you reading to yourself in that place?” he mutters to himself. 

James recognises that, from years gone by, as more of an “What am I going to do with you and your strange ways of thinking, sergeant?” than an actual invitation for James to start expounding on Saint Augustine’s vision of theological anthropology. More’s the pity. 

He watches Robbie give a slight shrug and that frown start to form that says he’s decided to give a question that he hadn’t previously thought about due consideration. 

“Well, only you can decide that. But maybe think about it like it’s about someone else,” Robbie offers eventually. “You know, like someone you care for has been sleeping on a couch, strained his back, lost the flat he’d had lined up, has to go hunting for another and was having trouble concentrating on his reading for a day — would you tell him he should keep at it anyway, shouldn’t take a break?”

James gives him a sudden grin but it’s less to do with Robbie’s words, his generous attempt to steer James away from the murky waters of self-flagellation, and more to do with the familiar “case-closed” look that is now settling on Robbie’s face as he decides on his stance on an issue to his own satisfaction. 

Robbie looks at him quizzically. “You’re going to be putting questions like that to me on a rainy Monday morning over me breakfast when we’re in our new place, aren’t you?” he asks, resigned. “Can we try instigating a rule that you don’t do it before me first cuppa of the day?”

It's at moments like this that James thinks that maybe he can do this — take the this-much-and-no-more that's on offer here, and it may just be enough.

The initial flat-hunting expedition is somewhat disappointing, and also leaves them at a bit of an impasse. 

To start with, the flats they look at are better on paper — or rather, screen — than in reality: rooms are poky or poorly shaped, buildings are in a bad state of repair, locations are wrong for a variety of reasons. James is ready to start a new search — but then Robbie questions the search criteria.

"Think we should be looking in a higher price-bracket," he says, taking James by complete surprise. "An' I wouldn't mind somewhere with three bedrooms. It'd make it easier if Lyn and the gang wanted to come down. In fact," he adds, moving closer to James — close enough for their shoulders to press together — and looking at the search screen on James's phone, "maybe we should be buying, not renting."

There's an uneasy sensation in James's gut. "Robbie... I don't think I could afford anything like that. The maximum I originally set was based on doubling what I know I can pay. As for buying, that's out of the question. I'd never qualify for a mortgage as a research student."

Robbie looks instantly taken aback. "I didn't mean I expect you to — For heaven's sake, man, if I'm the one wanting a bigger place so me family can visit, stands to reason I should bear the cost. And buying... I didn't bother before, 'cause it was just me an' I didn't see the point, but I've got money. Don't need a mortgage." James feels his jaw slackening. It must've shown, because Robbie explains. "Sold our house after Val died, didn't I? An' we both had life insurance. Stuck it all away in investments, apart from some I put aside for the kids. It's been untouched for ten years." He shrugs, a little awkward. "Mortgage was paid off, mainly thanks to Morse, an' the housing market was doing well when I sold — not the stupid prices before the crash, but higher than it is now. An', yeah, interest rates were crap for a few years, but there were five years of double-digit returns before the crash, an' it's been better again for a couple of years. More than doubled the initial investment. We could buy a decent three-bed semi somewhere like Marston an' I'd still have two hundred thousand or so in savings aside from me retirement lump sum."

James almost feels physically ill. When Robbie suggested getting a place together, he'd imagined shared costs — splitting everything equally. There's no way he can afford an equal share of what Robbie's talking about now — so what is Robbie envisaging? That he'd pay rent — be a lodger? Which he might not have minded before, but now — now that Robbie's talking about a closer kind of relationship — it feels completely wrong. 

If he accepted, went along with this, he'd feel like a bloody kept man. And he can't possibly tell Robbie that, because one thing he's completely certain of is that the idea never crossed Robbie's mind. If anything, Robbie's feeling sorry for him - should have been obvious, shouldn't it, based on what Robbie'd said earlier when he was trying to shake James out of his self-flagellation. 

He can't accept Robbie's pity, and he can't accept any arrangement where he's not able to pay his way. So, again, it looks like the sharing's a non-starter, doesn't it?

"James?" Robbie's got his head tipped to one side and is looking at him expectantly. "What're you thinking?"

James shakes his head. "I can't."

Robbie blinks. "You can't…"

"I can't allow you to pay my way," James says. "I want to contribute. I do. I know I can't contribute much, but…" He sighs. "I never thought I'd say this, but I don't want charity." That's not his real reasoning, of course, but it'll do for now.

"Oh." Robbie looks crestfallen.

"I'm sorry. It's… it's incredibly nice of you. I just don't feel right now that I can…"

"No, no, I understand," Robbie interrupts. "It's all right, lad. We'll find something we can both afford, yeah?"

"But I don't want to be the one keeping you from what you want," James insists. "If you want a bigger place… somewhere nice…I don't want to be the reason you can't…"

"And what bloody good will it do me to have an enormous flat and just me to fill it?" Robbie snaps. Then his anger seems to fade and he turns away. "We'll find something for the two of us. That's what I want."

“I—” This is all new territory to James and his first instinct is to try and slow things down, to take some time to himself to think things over thoroughly. But Robbie is standing right there, right now, looking rather confused himself at James’s reactions, and James knows what he actually needs to do here is engage with talking about this.

Is this what it’s like to be more involved in someone else’s life — to make decisions balancing their needs and yours? “I—” James starts again. “Why don’t we talk it though over a pint?”

He gets a sudden grin from Robbie, at this echo from their days as sergeant and inspector and it reassures James that maybe somehow they can negotiate their way through this. And by the time they’re sitting at an outdoor table at the Trout — probably a table they’ve actually sat at before and let their ideas over a case eventually fade into musings over other things — well, James feels he can see things a little more clearly. 

Robbie, he’s belatedly taken in, could have bought a house, outright, years ago, when he first came back from the British Virgin Islands. And instead he’d moved alone through a succession of rented flats, fairly modest flats that he’d never particularly seemed to settle in. He must have found it very hard to face buying somewhere in Oxford that wasn’t his old family home. 

And now, he’s saying he wants more permanence and he wants James’s company there. That maybe the prospect of having James’s company makes enough of a difference, and comes at a time when Robbie has moved forward enough, that Robbie is able to take the step of having a permanent home in Oxford again. Well, if it means all that much to Robbie, James thinks he can let go of his relatively trivial concerns about the awkwardness of how he’d feel not being able to contribute as equally as he’d ideally like to. About being technically a lodger. 

“It would be your house, wouldn’t it, legally?” he asks, and Robbie turns from his contemplation of the river to consider him. “I’m sure it would be very handy having enough room for your family to visit. But I’d need to pay my proper contribution — rent, to label it properly — and bills, of course. That way — well, anyway, that way I could do it.”

Robbie takes a long drink of his pint, and the inevitable pause makes James wonder if he's got it wrong again. But he pushes the doubt away. He might not be a detective any more, but he hasn't lost the skills, nor the instinct that made him good at it in the first place. He's pretty certain that he's finally understood what Robbie's really asking for.

Robbie sets his pint down and gives a deliberate nod. "If that's what you need to feel... right... about it, then all right. We can even get one of those ready-made tenancy agreement things from WH Smith, if you want. Doesn't make any difference to me." He smiles wryly. "S'pose I was so focused on the idea of having a proper home again, an' someone to share it with, that I just didn't stop to think about the practical stuff — or how I'd feel in your position."

James smiles, warm and open, showing that all's well as far as he's concerned. "So, new search criteria?" He reaches for his phone. "What's important to you? Location, size, availability of parking, garden or no garden...?"

"Got to have somewhere you can go to smoke," Robbie retorts immediately. "Though you're gonna be picking up those butts." He leans back in his chair, relaxing. "Yeah, I've got criteria — but there's not just me to consider, is there? What you want matters, too. An' not a word about who's paying. Couldn't care less about that." He tugs on his ear. "If you've got what you need, if you like the place, then you'll stay, won't you?" 

James frowns, taken aback. Doesn't Robbie realise...? But maybe he doesn't. And James himself shouldn't assume that it's obvious. He reaches across the table and covers Robbie's hand with his. "Do you really think my wanting to stay would have anything to do with the _house_?"

Robbie's face creases into a smile. "Good. Still, I want to know what you want. No point me lookin' at a modern semi in Headington if you'd prefer a terrace in Iffley or Grandpoint."

James shrugs. "As long as it's not a terrace in Jericho, I don't care. Although," he adds, because he does have one preference and if it'll make Robbie happy, he'll voice it, "I'd like a decent kitchen. I enjoy cooking — even more now that I have more time — and I'd like to keep cooking for you. It might even have the side-benefit of reconciling your daughter to me living with you."

Robbie's eyes widen. "Why would Lyn mind? Has she said anything?"

"I think..." James runs a finger around the edge of his pint-glass. "It's possible that she thinks, if I weren't camping out at your place, you'd move to Manchester."

"Well, that's just not true," Robbie says matter-of-factly. "I've made a life for meself here. It's easy for a young person to move from one place to another and not feel any sentimental attachment to a place, but it's not for me. My friends are here. My favourite things are here. My favourite people." This last said with a warm glance at James.

"But she's right, then, if I'm what's keeping you here," James says, worried.

"You're not listening, James," Robbie says with a shake of his head. "I'm saying I'm staying because I want to stay. Because this is my home. Has been for ages. You're one of the reasons, yes, but you're not the only reason. Just like I'm not the only reason you live in Oxford."

Well. No. But James suspected the scale of James's decision was weighted more firmly in favour of Robbie than even Robbie knew.

"I like to visit her," Robbie says. "But I don't want her in my back pocket. She's a nurse and she… fusses a bit over me. It's manageable from a distance, but if I lived in Manchester, she'd be over every day. I love my daughter, but I don't need her to be my minder. Don't want it either."

He delivers one of his “case-closed” grins to James and James reflects wryly that if Lyn has inherited in any way Robbie’s stubborn streak, he dreads to imagine how father and daughter might clash over their differing ideas about what constitutes Robbie taking proper care of his health. But Robbie’s grins are always irresistible. James, with a surge of affection, and just because he can really, reaches out a hand to rest it briefly on Robbie’s arm. 

And the feeling of discomfort in his back at the slight movement and the warmth he’s feeling for Robbie combine to remind him vividly of last night spent in Robbie’s bed. Of the comfort but the nervous fear of his real feelings here being exposed. Of one overlooked aspect of this buying-instead-of-renting conundrum that has so suddenly presented itself to him today — how much more time the whole process must surely take. 

“I can’t sleep in your bed all that time until a house purchase goes through,” he blurts out in horror, his grip tightening reflexively on Robbie's forearm at the mere thought.

Robbie goes very still, and his expression's... stricken. And James knows he's more than put his foot in it this time.

He doesn't do it often but, Christ, when he does he does it spectacularly. Opens his mouth and speaks completely without thinking, without any consideration for the person he's speaking to. Without stopping to ask himself whether hurting that person's feelings is less important than whatever it is he feels he needs to say in that precise moment.

To Will, in that one moment above all he wishes it were possible to undo, complete condemnation, with not one second's compassion or attempt at understanding. 

To Robbie, at Crevecoeur, a crass, hateful summary of his life that couldn't have wounded more effectively if he'd actually designed it this way.

And now this — protecting himself again at the expense of someone he loves.

"Didn't realise you felt that way," Robbie's saying, and he's pulling his arm away. "Was only thinking of your back, but..."

He was thinking of James's back, yes, but Robbie also told him earlier how much he missed being close to someone, and that he'd... liked... waking up physically close to James. _Sodding hell, Hathaway, when you fuck up, you **really** fuck up._

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

He reaches out and catches Robbie's hand, hoping that his friend won't pull away. Robbie doesn't, but his expression is wary. 

"I'm sorry. I... Sometimes I... say things without thinking, things I don't realise the impact of — I never meant to..." He shakes his head — is he only making it worse?

The silence stretches for several seconds but, just as he thinks he really has ruined everything, Robbie speaks. "Talk to me, man. Tell me what I've done wrong, so we can fix it, all right?"

"It's not you," James says quietly. "Believe me… if there's only one thing you take away from this conversation, it should be that even when I say something stupid, it's not your fault."

Robbie shakes his head. "I don't understand."

James is running out of options. He doesn't want to reveal his secret… but is it better to keep his own feelings safe and hidden away and run the risk of hurting Robbie every time he tactlessly opens his mouth? James is beginning to wonder about that.

"There's something you don't know," James says quietly. "Something I haven't told you."

Robbie shifts a bit closer, expression open and curious. "Can you tell me now?"

"I'm trying," James says. "But… I'm afraid to."

Robbie's expression softens. "James, I promise, anything you tell me will be all right."

James nods, steeling himself to the task at hand. "It's not fair to you not to tell you," he whispers. "You have the right to know."

Robbie nods, but his eyes are questioning.

"I said what I said to you just now… about sharing a bed… because…" James takes a deep breath. "Because I have a certain… attraction… to you. And if we go on sharing a bed… I can't think of any way to keep you from finding out."

Robbie stares at him in complete silence. 

And right on top of the overwhelming relief that comes from finally getting that off his chest after longer than James cares to think about, comes the embarrassment of what he’s just said. 

But he has to force himself to keep meeting Robbie’s eyes, Robbie’s startled blue eyes. His warm blue eyes; there’s a building warmth in them that tells James that actually this is somehow going to be all right, Robbie’s not going to overreact or let this introduce too much further awkwardness into their friendship beyond what must be inevitable.

Well, it may have been the right decision to tell him, after all, even if James had been backed into a corner, because Robbie’s whole expression now is quite gentle, and he doesn’t look sorry for James at all either, or flustered as if he’s about to start immediately backtracking on any of the things he’d said about physical contact being welcome.

In fact, he’s reaching up a hand to cup James’s cheek right now, which is beyond kind in the circumstances, and James lets himself lean into the consolation of that in his relief, in silence. He’d thought he’d feel ashamed if he ever admitted his ridiculous, unmanageable feelings to Robbie. It feels more like laying down a burden.

“You serious?” Robbie asks, and there’s a definite pleasure in his expression now.

Pleasure just because James has actually confided in him for once — or for some other reason? 

He swallows and nods. "Yeah."

Robbie's thumb strokes James's jaw. "Daft sod."

James blinks. "What?"

Robbie's hand falls away, and James's relief begins to turn into cold fear. He really has screwed everything up... but then Robbie simply moves around to his side of the table, sliding in behind James on the bench-seat and wrapping his arm around James's chest, tugging James back against him. "Daft sod," he repeats, and his tone's fond. "Should've said something ages ago."

It's gradually sinking in that Robbie really doesn't have a problem with James being attracted to him — that there's even a faint possibility that he might welcome the idea. James folds his own arm over Robbie's. "I don't imagine the good doctor would have liked that very much."

"Tosser," Robbie says, not in the least bit annoyed. "That's been over for bloody ages. You still said nothing."

"To be fair," James points out, since he thinks he's now getting a fairly good idea of which way the wind's blowing here, "neither did you."

"Did, though," Robbie objects. "You just weren't listening, were you... pet?"

James's breath catches for a moment, and he stares at Robbie, understanding dawning.

"You didn't mean Dr Hobson," James whispers. "You meant _me_."

Robbie looks slightly shy. "And here I was thinking I'd been too obvious."

James shakes his head. "Not obvious enough. I thought…" He exhales slowly, feeling a bit shaky. "I thought I'd have to hide how I felt from you forever. That you would…" He shakes his head again. "That things wouldn't go well."

"See how badly they're going now?" Robbie asks, voice affectionate.

"I can't believe it," James says. And… in a way, he really can't. It's so unexpected. He never believed for one moment that an admission of his feelings would lead to "yes, me too" from Robbie. That was never a scenario he had imagined, other than in dreams when he'd allowed his hope to trump his experience.

"Oh, please believe it," Robbie jokes gently. "I don't want to have to debate the nature of bloody reality just so you'll come and live with me."

Come and live with him. 

Robbie’s behaviour over the past while has all started to fall into place. 

He’d started using endearments towards James when he was relaxed and sleepy, and actually, as it turns out, just had his guard down and really wanted to call James by those names. He’d gently tried to persuade James that their sharing a home and becoming more involved in each other’s day-to-day lives was a good idea — and then suggested they make it more than a convenient flat-share together, proposing a more permanent home. He’s even been seeking more physical intimacy and checking that that was all right with James. 

And the amount of consolation and comfort that he’s been offering to James especially when his back went and Robbie saw him hurt and struggling in more way than one... Well, that's fairly embarrassing for a former detective. It’s probably just as well that James has left CID behind. He seems to have comprehensively lost most of his deductive skills when it comes to this one. 

James doesn’t care in the slightest in these circumstances, though, he’s feeling far too joyous for that, at the new knowledge that’s crashing around him.

And there’s a low mutter in his ear, confirming it now, as Robbie’s arm tightens around him. 

“You’re an easy man to love, James Hathaway. You’re just a bloody hard one to show it to.”

"I don't mean to be," he protests half-heartedly; it's not as if he actually _wants_ to argue with Robbie about this. No, what he really wants to do is to relax back against Robbie, to enjoy the sensation of the man's arm around him as he's longed to be held, and to lean back further, turn his head and kiss Robbie.

Though he's not sure if he wants their first kiss to be here, in the Old Vic's beer garden — even if it would make sense. They've had so many other momentous conversations here, after all. 

"If you think about it," he continues quietly, as Robbie rests his chin on his shoulder, "why would I ever have imagined that you might... I mean, you were married, and in all the years we worked together I only ever saw you flirt with women. And then you were with Laura. You might have been dropping hints, and I see now that you were, but I did have rather a lot of evidence to the contrary."

"Bloke can change his mind, can't he?" And, for a few moments, James is entirely distracted as Robbie presses his lips, lightly but clearly deliberately, to the side of his neck. "And, really, who else could put up with me? Who else could put up with you, come to that?"

"I'll... give you that," James manages to say, despite Robbie's renewed attentions to his neck and ear-lobe. 

"So we can get back to house-hunting tomorrow, then?" And Robbie steals a completely unfair advantage by sucking sharply on James's skin, then stroking his tongue back and forth over the affected area.

"Yes. But stop," James says, pulling away from Robbie.

Robbie looks startled. A bit wary. "I don't understand."

James presses a hand to Robbie's cheek. "I want this. I do. But I don't want it to be…" He grimaces, looking around. "…some sort of performance. Being intimate with you… I don't want to feel I'm doing it for an audience. I want it to be just us, so that I can focus on you. Give you all my attention, as I want to."

Robbie nods, expression gentle. "I understand."

James snorts with laughter. "Do you? Because I don't."

Robbie rubs a hand gently up and down James's arm. "It's new for both of us, and… we haven't had these conversations yet. About what we're comfortable with. And I was wrong to think we could skip that." He tilts his head. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," James says, feeling a sudden panic that he's ruined things again. "And it's not that I don't want…"

"I know," Robbie says warmly. "I know, pet."

It warms James right through to hear the endearment and know that it’s most definitely meant for him now. 

And they do have a rather more suitable venue to take this surprising new initiative to, don’t they? Robbie’s flat. Robbie’s orthopaedic mattress… which, he realises, with a rush of relief, he can now sleep on beside Robbie without fear of discovery. Without fear of making unwanted advances when his guard is down. 

Because it turns out his advances are rather wanted, as the lingering sensation he can still feel on his neck, from the attentions Robbie's mouth has provided, are very effectively convincing him. James can, in fact, rather do what he wants. With Robbie. It’s a lot to get his head around, after all these years. Which doesn’t mean he has to waste any more time, though.

Now he no longer has to hide his attraction from Robbie, now that he’s finally let that long-held secret see the light of day — and the world hasn’t crumbled, far from it, thinks James with a surge of happiness — he finds that with Robbie they’re already at a place where he can actually voice things and rely on Robbie’s honesty and his gentle teasing. James can actually try and talk about what he wants here and he knows Robbie will make the effort to try and understand.

“So we _could_ always…” He tilts his head sideways a bit so Robbie can see his face and raises his eyebrows hopefully. Robbie grins at him. 

“Go somewhere slightly more private than this?” he offers gravely.

* * *

In Robbie's flat, he faces his friend, and suddenly his throat's dry. All the words he'd rehearsed in the car on the way back are gone, and all that's left is Robbie, watching him with an affectionate, amused and _loving_ expression in his eyes — and waiting.

The next move's James's, that much is clear, and he's more nervous than he's ever been in his life before.

And then Robbie's eyes crinkle and a smile that's so familiar appears on his face, and suddenly it's all right — because, really, what's changed here? This is still his best friend, the man who's been a steady constant in his life for almost eight years, who's never let him down yet and has already made clear that he won't let him down over this either.

And, yes, James has questions. Wants to understand what Robbie wants — well, apart from moving in together, and clearly more of a physical relationship than they've had. But right this second what he wants more than anything is— 

—This. He takes Robbie's face between his palms and dips his head, and brushes their lips together once, twice, and then moves in for a more lingering kiss. Robbie's hands grip his hips and he kisses back with an obvious interest that completely dispels any lingering doubts in the back of James's mind that Robbie might not really mean this, might just have gone along with it to let James down lightly. 

He's kissing Robbie Lewis, and Robbie Lewis is kissing him back, and nothing has ever been better than this.

But he does have questions and, as the kiss changes to a full-body hug and what sounds like a relieved sigh from Robbie, James murmurs, "Mind if we just sit for a bit?"

Robbie's laugh is soft. "Course not, lad. Wouldn't be you if that big brain of yours wasn't still asking questions."

He tugs Robbie to the sofa and sits so that they're pressed closely together. Robbie immediately takes his hand, and James feels himself relax just a little more. "It's not that I don't believe you want me, and I know I shouldn't be looking for caveats, but... Robbie, only a couple of months ago you and Laura were together, and I'd have sworn you'd be living together by Christmas. And now you want to be with me...?"

"Ah, pet." Robbie's smile is rueful, self-deprecating. "I'd probably never have realised what I wanted if Laura hadn't pointed it out — and told me that if I couldn't see that you were every bit as daft about me she'd be getting me a guide dog for Christmas."

"What?" James hadn't expected that. "Laura said…?"

Robbie nods, looking a bit embarrassed. "Suppose I ought to have known before she did. But sometimes… you don't make the connections on your own."

James can't help smiling a bit at that. He certainly didn't make the right connections in interpreting Robbie's behaviour. "No."

Robbie pulls a face. "Do you want to know exactly what was said?"

James gives him a wary look. "I don't know. Do I?"

"I may or may not have been railing about how the people you've cared about haven't been worthy of you," Robbie says. "How I wanted to see you with someone just once who deserved you. And Laura said, 'Like you?' and I said, 'If I thought he'd have me!'" He clears his throat.

"That must have been mortifying," James says.

"Well, it's not every day your girlfriend susses out you've got a thing for your best friend," Robbie says. "There were some confused and impassioned discussions after that… confused on my side, impassioned on hers."

"She didn't mind?" James says.

"I think she'd already sort of… resigned herself," Robbie says. "And she'd decided if she couldn't be with me, she'd sort of… shout encouragement from the sidelines."

"If I didn't think it'd be adding insult to injury, I'd thank her," James says, gripping Robbie's hand tighter. 

Robbie grins. "Actually, she said in a way she thought she owed you."

"Oh?"

"Remember Franco?" Ah — that time a few years ago when he had chosen not to tell Robbie that he'd seen Laura with another man, but Laura'd assumed he had and gave him the cold shoulder as a result. Then, to add insult to injury, he'd caught Robbie's ire as well.

"She might be right," he says with a smirk. "But, seriously — she's all right? I'd never want..." To get what he wants most in the world at the expense of someone else's unhappiness. Especially Laura, who's known Robbie far longer, and in many ways seems far more suited to him, than James. 

"She really is fine." There's complete confidence in Robbie's voice, and James wonders just how much talking the two of them have been doing behind his back — and whether, perhaps, Laura has even been giving Robbie courting advice. "Stop being so self-sacrificing, man. We weren't right that way, Laura and me. I think you and I can be."

And he's confident enough about it to take things to the point of moving in together, in the kind of living situation that Robbie can only be viewing as permanent. If Robbie's ready and willing to take that kind of leap of faith, surely James can overcome his stupid, inherent pessimism, that fear he's always had that if he really wants something it's going to go wrong?

Robbie knows he's thinking too much. He always does. "Stop that right this instant."

"Stop what?"

"I don't know, but whatever it is, it's making furrows in between your eyebrows, so stop it," Robbie informs him. "Worries are off limits tonight."

"Mm," James says, resting his head against Robbie's shoulder. "Wouldn't that be nice."

"If I knew how to do it for you, I would," Robbie says quietly.

"You do," James says. "As much as anyone can, you do." And it's true.

Robbie smiles. "All right if I kiss you?"

James smiles back. The future… well… it may not be all moonlight and roses. James may never get to the point where he can think of it in those terms. But it's looking better than it has in a long while.

"No. Because I'm going to kiss you first," he murmurs, leaning in to meet Robbie's lips with his own.

Yes. This is the future he wants, here with Robbie. This future and none other.

* * *


End file.
